


home at last

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, S11 Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: A conversation on a log.





	home at last

There was no fog at the lake, even this early in the morning. The sun baked the stones on the standstill Virginia shore. It would hurt, were you to pick one up or decide to go barefoot. A long, hollow log stretched out over jagged rocks, and the pair sat side by side on top of it, dressed in all black, their backs to the verdure and all the traffic so many miles away. **  
**

Conversation that should have flowed like funeral wine was stilted, caught in long throats and behind equally square-set jaws. The words they have said to each other since their first meeting have dwindled in their syllables. There was not a lot to say.

It would be that way for awhile. But…

“You religious, Mr. Mulder?” William asked suddenly. 

William was not a thing like Mulder imagined: which was really saying something, being that Mulder imagined him a million different ways. William was polite, cordial to a fault, and deeply religious – but in a way that reminded Mulder more of himself and less of Scully. _I can do things that others can’t,_ William told his newly acquainted father. _And it’s because God made me this way._

The force of William’s beliefs made him relatable – _that’s my kid_ – though the content did not. Mulder bristled. That old non-believer reflex. The laugh of someone who knew better, the annoyance at being asked life’s most inescapable question. 

But William’s eyes were caught on a glint of metal grazing over Mulder’s chest, over his thin black tie. 

Oh. 

“No. No, I’m not. Your mother was. This… this was your mother’s.” 

William sounded pleased, almost relieved, when he replied. “She believed in God.” 

Mulder could see it as clearly as if it were happening right in front of him. Scully reaching around her neck, letting the chain fall into her open palm. How the cross would spill from her into William’s hand, how she’d close her son’s fingers around the sacred object, and how she’d never give it another thought. 

But the thought of taking it off closed his throat, as if the chain itself were stealing his breath. He considered how the weeks had gone. Waking up. Two orange and white pills, burnt toast. Getting in his car and driving it in straight lines, around bends and curves and not into other cars. Phone call after phone call with William’s parents who had flown back after the funeral, and who thought well enough of the eccentric man who had given their son life, but did not quite understand him or the bond he shared with William’s mother. Walter Skinner’s tears. Everyone else’s tears. He wasn’t used to sharing Scully.  Grieving had so far been one selfless act after another, and he was worn out. What would it take for this one thing…

William looked at him, those wet blue eyes, that unfortunate nose, expecting something.

Scully had walked through life, picking things up and then leaving them behind. For better or worse. She had picked up cancer, and then she defeated it. She picked up fad diets, career paths, shoulder pads, keychains, and Gods. She had picked up her son and held him, for months and months, until it was time to put him back down, and then she never held him again. 

She had picked Mulder up. 

But Mulder was not the same way. He’d apologize for it later. The cross cut into his tightened fist and he deposited it back underneath his shirt. He suspected the rest of his life would be spent retracing all those steps she had taken, seeing what was left to scavenge, and reclaiming what was rightfully his. William was a start.

“Your mother and God,” he began, not quite sure what he was going to say. Kicking down door, gun first. “Your mother and God had a weird relationship. She didn’t always seem to like him. I uh,” he rubbed his fist over his mouth. “I don’t think he always seemed to like her.” Every word came out like he was forcing the pieces of the puzzle into places where they didn’t fit. 

But god. Scully had asked him, not so long ago. Does William ever think of me? And this was his last chance to tell her _Yes. Look, Scully. He asks about you. He_ knows _about you._ Our son _knows about you._

“And I think the idea of meeting him always scared her shitless. Death was… her only fear, for a long time. But you couldn’t even tell.” He laughed. A whole summer. He had the whole summer to tell William everything. He would get to it later. “One time… she was very close. And she told me what it was like, and that she had seen her father.” Years, years after the fact, of course. “She knew what happens when we go. And she stopped being afraid.” He swallowed. The urn at his feet held more weight than what was physically possible. “There’s hope in that.” 

He closed his eyes. Underneath… everything. The depression, the despondency, the absolute and total funk. The anger at the injustice – that the world was right again, that they had saved it, that governments were crumbling from the inside out, that the truth was out there and everybody _knew it_ – and she wasn’t there to see it… that would eventually crush him. That there was a universe without her, and he was being forced to live in it, was unfathomable and painfully real. But underneath.

He wasn’t sure if it was the medication, or if this was what your body did when it finally realized _you’re a father_. Underneath it all was a pocket of safe, clean oxygen, a reserve he could draw from when he felt like collapsing. 

“The way I see it, if you’re a good person, and if you believe, well and truly believe,” William said. “You go to heaven.” 

Mulder laughed then, laughed loudly with the tears shining on his face, his body wracking with it. He slung his arm over William’s shoulder, his boy’s shoulder. “Then I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” 

As for Mulder, it didn’t really matter what he believed. It would change, over time, to whatever afterlife boasted the better offer. From soulmates eternal to the stars in the sky, all he needed to know was that she was out there. When the time came, he would find her.

He always did.


End file.
